Wednesday
by formerlyknownasone
Summary: I couldn't resist ice cream." Katie said. "That's why I'm laughing." Oliver smiled. A simple story on how the both of them came to love Wednesdays. KBOW. R
1. Firewhiskey

**Yeah, its me. I know, it's been a long long time since I last logged in and stuff. Apologies to all.**

**So I was thinking I wanted to write a story. Something really simple and sweet. Not neccessarily simple in terms of plot ( though this story is), but more of a simple style and easy read. Something like Over Tea Leaves and Coffee, but for KBOW. It's been quite a long while since I read a nice simple uncomplicated story. I miss that. I thought I should really write something like that. I particularly enjoyed writing it.  
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**This chapter is dedicated to all my generous and loyal readers. Thank you so much for waiting.  
**

**Enjoy.**

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For no good reason at all, Oliver Wood, at ten fifty in the morning, decided to walk into Three Broomsticks.

He just had a particularly gruelling practice—five hours long, beaters weren't cooperating (they _never _were), lost the new play he had drawn up last night. Admittedly it was his fault—as his team mate Abshire eloquently put it, "No one bloody wakes up at five in the morning to play Quidditch, Wood."

He supposed though, it was because it was on a Wednesday. He didn't like Wednesdays.

It was only, therefore, ten by the time practice had ended. All of his team members had happily trudged home to bed, feeling that they had earned a well-deserved break. But not Oliver. He didn't feel tired at all— as a matter of fact he thought that they had a rather relaxed schedule actually. He didn't feel exactly like returning to his flat either though; it was after all, empty.

A growl in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't consumed any food since last evening. Breakfast at Hogsmeade sounded like a good option, given his dismal cooking abilities. Upon Apparating, however, he found himself unexpectedly landing conveniently right in front of Three Broomsticks. A place, I might add, that he hadn't been to quite recently. Shrugging his shoulders, more in the lines of why not than why here, Oliver Wood stepped into the Three Broomsticks for the first time in three years.

The place wasn't much changed. The creaky wooden floor, the cosy cushioned booths and the half torn portrait of a shrieking Celestina Warbeck were still there, completely the same as when he had last stepped in. Even the elegant shopkeeper Rosmerta was still behind the counter, gossiping with the other patrons as usual. Everything looked as if it had been left untouched since three years ago. Taking a seat at the nearest booth from his seat and motioning the clueless, bored-looking waiter over, he ordered ham and eggs and toast, a cup of coffee by the side, and began his solitary breakfast.

All that had really entered his mind the whole time was that the porcelain plates must be clean. He was rather particular about that. It was a habit that he had unfortunately picked up from his room mate Percy years ago. Finally satisfied that his knives, forks and plates were spick and span enough, he dug in to his meal heartily, realising he was hungrier that he had thought.

All this while he had missed the little tinkling of the bell as the door opened, too absorbed in his task of inspecting his tableware. He had therefore, missed the entrance of a young lady in emerald green robes, who waved cheerfully to Madame Rosmerta and gave her a wink. He had not caught the surprise look on her flushed face as she registered his presence, three booths in front of her. Oliver was also oblivious of the smirk that graced her features as she saw his familiar idiosyncrasy, shrewdly eyeing his obsession with cleaning his spoon. Or that her grin widen when she watch him shove food into his mouth hungrily. All these, in conclusion, he was blissfully unaware of, something that, however, he would regret a few moments later, as the witch strolled up to him.

"Wood."

He had heard his name. Slightly annoyed at someone interrupting his breakfast, he looked up irritatedly at the caller, hoping it was not an over-zealous fan. The irascible look however, was changed to one of complete shock as he realised, suddenly, that Katie Bell was now standing in front of him, tall and sprightly and smiling.

It was a complete surprise. It might have even occurred to Oliver Wood that it was a _pleasant_ surprise, if he didn't remember the piece of half-chewed ham hanging in his mouth. He turned very red at that sudden thought, and quickly swallowed its remains and wiped his mouth.

"You would think," the lady laughed gaily as she slid into the seat opposite him,"That seven years of Hogwarts education would at least teach you how to say a simple hello." A silence ensued, before she continued. "You do remember me, do you?"

"Katie," He greeted cheerfully.

Of course he would never forget. The girl in front of him kidnapped his broomstick for three days in exchange for a week of no practice. This was the girl who made his days in school much much more enjoyable, but also much much more painful. This was also the woman who, unfortunately, was very good friends with the Weasley twins.

No, he would _never _forget.

"Do you think," he laughed at her, "That I would really forget that time you lock me in the Quidditch closet?"

"Did I?" Katie asked, an innocent smile on her face. "I don't remember."

"It was below five degrees, Bell."

"I'm glad you finally know that. You realise that you made us practice Quidditch in that weather all the time?" She countered playfully.

"I'm well aware of that, thanks. It won us the cup, didn't it?" He replied proudly, no longer caring about his breakfast. There was a wide grin on his face now, as he fondly recalled that precious memory in his last year at Hogwarts.

"We would have won anyway, without the dawn-to-dusk drills."

At that moment they were interrupted by the bored-looking waiter, who slammed down a glass in front of Katie before stalking away. Oliver caught a whiff of strong spice and alcohol as she took a tiny sip of her liquor.

"Firewhiskey in the morning, Bell?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Too early?" Katie said, arching an eyebrow as well.

"For most people, I would say." The spicy smell made Oliver tempted to order a glass. It smelt really good.

"Not for me. Keeps me going for the rest of the day." She answered, fingering the cup. Her companion eyed the cup good-humouredly.

"I should think most people become inebriated after a shot or two." Oliver said wryly, crossing his arms to keep his hands from grabbing the seductive alcohol.

"Everything works backwards for me, doesn't it?" Katie laughed. Unable to resist throwing Oliver a teasing look, she added, "Firewhiskey does that. You, of all people, should know that all too well."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," He denied, grinning. So she remembered.

"During the year-end party? When everybody got drunk except us. Why, I believe that it has precisely the same effect on you." She said with a twisted smile.

With that, she turned her head to the window on her left, taking a moment to enjoy the scenery.

Oliver took this chance to observe her as Katie took another dainty sip from her drink. Obviously she had grown. She was tall now, compared to the tiny, petite chaser he used to see in school, the one who at one point had been towered by the height of her broom. Oliver chuckled. That had been ages ago, when she had been no more than a mite.

She looked very pretty now though, with long dark curls and those really bright green eyes. But then Oliver had to admit she had always been good-looking; he remembered how enamoured Davies and Diggory were with her. But that twisted smile was still there, as were the mischievous looks. But Oliver thought they still suited her well.

"What have you been up to?" He asked her curiously. He hadn't seen her for three years. Not since the last time in Hogwarts.

"Not much. Work, sleep, work and Firewhiskey," the brunette told him. He rolled his eyes. This was Katie Bell all right—vague questions, vague answers.

"What are you working as now?" He persisted, downing his coffee. The caffeine-laced beverage soothed his nerves.

"Guess."

"Quidditch." .

"Nope."

"Ministry?" he guessed. He noticed she was slightly pale, or at least, as fair as ever.

"Hell no."

"The Weasleys."

The withering, are-you-out-of-your-mind look she shot him was sufficient enough an answer.

"I give up," He conceded, throwing his hands in the air. "So tell me."

"I'm a reporter for the Quibbler," She told him truthfully, smiling slightly. "Remember Luna Lovegood? From Ravenclaw?"

He recalled a blur memory of a blond, dreamy girl—the one with the Butterbeer necklace?

"I think so."

"Her father's the editor. She's my colleague."

"Ask me what I'm doing." He changed the topic.

"Co-captain of Puddlemere United. I do work in the media, you know." She stated with an eye roll, playing with the sugar sachets on the table. Katie had a habit of toying with food items.

"I always thought you would go to Quidditch as well," he remarked, slightly amused as he watch her tip the packet into his empty cup of coffee. It was true. He always imagined that she would join some Quidditch Team after her schooling. She would have gone far, too.

"And give up my sleep?" She scoffed before he could protest. "No thanks. I do volunteer as healer at the Stadium though," She offered.

"Which one?" Oliver immediately asked.

"Near Warwick."

"King's?"

"Yes."

"My team plays there frequently," he accused suspiciously. "I never see you."

"You better hope you don't see me," Katie replied with a grin. "It means that you broke your arm or something."

"I imagine the day will come sooner or later."

Katie laughed, throwing her dark brown curls back. "You will catch me one of these days. Or the other way round." Oliver shot her a look.

"I sincerely hope that was well meant, Katie."

"It is what you think it means." She said mischievously.

"How about the rest of the team?" Oliver suddenly asked, inspired by her presence. "How are they doing?"

"Please tell me that you do keep up with them, Wood." Katie said, deadpanned. "You didn't neglect the rest of them."

"We meet up sometimes," He said weakly. "Like, once a year."

Katie rolled her eyes.

"Angelina is in with the Ministry. Fred is dating her whenever he remembers to stop jinxing her hair purple."

"I am not surprised." He wasn't.

"Alicia is some sort of secretary for a Wizarding enterprise," she continued. "George is dating every woman in show business, which is why he has unlimited access to many concerts."

"You know quite a bit," he observed. "For someone who has been gone for three years."

"There's this wonderful invention called owl post, you know." Katie stated, lifting an eyebrow.

"Ah." He pretended to ponder about it. "Good invention."

"Now tell me, Wood," Katie said, leaning in," Is there a reason why you are staring at my robes?"

"I am admiring how good you look in it." He said brazenly.

"Thank you."

"I am also wondering why of all the colours on the colour wheel, you have to pick Slytherin colours for your attire."

"The whole house colours squabble is getting a little old. Anyway, that is rich coming from you." She mused, folding her arms.

"Implying?"

"Pray tell, what is the colour of Puddlemere's robes?"

"Blue," he admitted. "So?"

"So I am a traitor for wearing green. And you can wear Ravenclaw colours."

"Slytherin's the enemy, not Ravenclaw." He said after a pause. "Besides," He added defensively, "Puddlemere's dark blue, whereas Ravenclaw's colour is a brighter, lighter shade."

"I don't get your logic, Wood." Katie said, shaking her head.

"Good. No one else does." He grinned.

"Of course, I must keep in mind that this is coming from someone who never passed Potions."

"Hey!" Oliver scowled, banging the table, "I was second in class for Transfigurations."

"That's only because McGonagall was afraid you would lead some kind of personal vendetta using the house team."

"So it wasn't my devilish good looks? Darn."

"You know," his companion eyed him shrewdly, "I think you have been hanging out with Fred more than I thought. You sound like him."

"There's a lot more to me than you know about, Katie." Oliver chuckled, shifting closer.

"I'm not sure I plan to find out."

"Oh?"

"Horror flicks are not my thing, Wood." Her comment earned her a light whack on her head. Katie winced. "Ouch. Ouch."

Satisfied, he sat back in a complacent manner, adding casually, "I hope that answer of yours doesn't have a double meaning."

"Which answer? I gave many this morning."

"The one about you not being sure you plan to find out more about me. Or anybody, for that matter."

"Depends what you think it means," she smiled, looking at Oliver. He noticed the wicked smile back on her face.

"Just for the record," He told her smugly. "Going off for three years again won't work."

"Why won't it?" She asked.

"Because I will catch you," Oliver said confidently, looking at her straight in the eye. It wasn't arrogance in his voice—more like certainty. Katie was aware of it.

"Perhaps." She smiled, looking out of the window again.

"Definitely. Even if Alicia and Ange can't."

"Is that why you are staring at my office ID on my chest again?"

"Who says I am staring at that?" Oliver said wickedly, giving her a meaningful look.

"You better," She said coyly. "You won't be seeing it much longer."

"And why not?" He asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Because I am going off to work now," She said, sighing. "I hate Wednesdays."

"Wednesdays blues?" He said sympathetically. He understood.

"Wednesday." She agreed, pausing.

"I think both you and I will come to love it some day," Oliver said thoughtfully.

"Not today," Katie said, the corner of her mouth twitching. "I have to find someone famous to interview."

"You have one in front of you."

"I thought you didn't like doing this kind of publicity."

"I don't. But you are an exception."

"I will try to fit you in my schedule." She replied dismissively.

"You know, most reporters would beg me to give them an interview. I'm surprised you didn't." He told her, watching Katie finish the last of her Firewhiskey. He was surprised and glad—but somewhat disappointed at the same time. He wondered if it was possible to feel such ambivalent emotions.

"I don't have to beg. It's an obligation." She said assuredly.

"An obligation?"

"You are my friend, Wood. I can write you in whenever I want."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then I will make up a few facts of you out of desperation, and wait till you read the article," Katie laughed, amusement in her voice. "But we will save that for later."

"You are going to walk off like that." It was more of an observation than a huffy statement."

"Yes I am."

"Maybe I should try that one day. You make it seem so easy."

"Ah, but I am particularly talented at it. Don't roll your eyes. Goodbye Oliver."

She rose from her seat and left, flashing another wicked grin in his direction as she headed to the door, her dark ringlets bouncing out of sight. Oliver watched as her silhouette disappeared down the street, wondering what on earth possessed him to walk to Three Broomsticks that morning. And thanking it silently.

His coffee was long gone, but Oliver didn't feel like getting up from his seat. Instead, he motioned for the waiter to get him another glass of Firewhiskey, clamouring for the spicy smell. He missed the fiery taste. As the waiter took off to dutifully bring his order Oliver leaned back in his seat once more and smiled to himself, privately enjoying a secret that no one else knew. And he intended to keep it— but not for long. Just for a little while.

It was a Wednesday morning and he had a Firewhiskey in his hand. He looked up at the sky from the window contentedly. The day was beautiful. Life is beautiful.

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**I hope you enjoyed this. It came off rougher and less vague than I planned though. This is unfortunately going to be a 5 to 6 chapter story, because I did say that it would be short and sweet. Haha I would really appreciate it if you guys can review.  
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**I know I mention like months ago that the third chapter of Maple Syrup will be out soon and truthfully, it was done long ago. Let's blame the world of technologies for killing my laptop and therefore forcing me to transfer all my documents to some random computer. I promise once I get it back I will upload i ASAP.**

**Review!!**

Review!

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	2. Strawberry

**Lo! I'm back. I won't be surprised to be greeted by silence... I have been away for that long **

**Okay I just finished up the Second Chapter of Wednesday after a gazillion years. Not my personal favourite chapter out of those I have done so far, but I liked the context its been set. I always imagined Oliver and Katie to have this sort of meeting and having meaningless discussions. Lol. Maybe I'm going mad.  
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**Enjoy! **

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Chapter Two- Strawberry

Tonight was a particularly slow one, or at least for Puddlemere. They had been playing Warwick Wonders at the King's Stadium, a friendly match between the two Quidditch teams. Oliver usually didn't mind playing against the minor league teams—they sometimes gave excellent pointers despite the fact that his team usually wins—but this team was… Oliver could only describe it as feeble. Their dismal playing made it too easy for them to score.

Oliver sighed as he watched the Warwick Wonders chaser accidentally dropped the Quaffle again. His teammate Lance Seymour expertly caught it from below, flying off to the other side of the pitch.

At that very moment a fellow team mate robed in blue flew beside him. It was Matt Springs. He flashed Oliver a wide grin.

"Almost as bad as the Eastside players," he observed, looking half-amused, half-bored.

"Don't you have some Bludgers to beat?"

"Nope," He replied cheerfully, his grin even wider.

"You do realise I am your captain." Oliver snorted, but grinned along infectiously. "Should you be telling me this in a middle of a match?"

"You wouldn't kick me off," He said confidently. "You love me too much, Wood."

"At least pretend to play," He instructed.

Matt rolled his eyes, but zoomed off on his broom, occasionally pulling a somersault. Typical Matt style, of course.

Oliver, in honest, hadn't been paying too much attention on the match either. He had been trying to recite Quidditch through the Ages backwards. A futile attempt, he supposed, in trying to keep himself awake.

He shook his head, allowing the cool crisp air of the evening clear his head. He tried to concentrate, but found again that he couldn't. No one from the opposing team even came near him in the past fifteen minutes.

From the corner of his eye he saw his seeker, Leah Hathaway, stifled a yawn as she searched intensively for the Snitch. He wished that she could quickly snatch that Golden Snitch—they couldn't wait for the match to be over.

Oliver searched the pitch for another distraction, until his brown eyes finally landed on a Warwick player nearby.

The Beater appeared to be having trouble with his bat, or perhaps he was really just a poor player. His aim had been off the first few times, and Oliver could tell he was getting more nervous with each missed swing. A first time player most likely, Oliver guessed, watching as the skinny Beater accidentally drop his bat.

His fifth try was a success. Oliver watched as the nervous Beater braced himself before hitting the black ball. This time his aim was true—the bludger went soaring fast and high in the air.

The beater—Jasper was it?—let out a whoop, evidently pleased with his success. Oliver admitted he would have been impressed if not for one very unpleasant fact: Jasper's bat was flung out of his hands from the impact. Said bat went flinging in the air as well, and was heading towards Oliver.

It took approximately two seconds for the bat to collide into the Puddlemere United Keeper's face. Something smashed his shoulder, and the impact was shattering. A loud resounding crack rang through the stadium.

"Uh oh," Oliver muttered before everything went blank.

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He was awake again within five minutes. His eyes flew open as he wondered where he was. He found himself looking up into the night sky. The stars twinkled back at him. It was a clear night. He saw a silhouette flew past. It was definitely Matt. His flashy style was recognisable.

Suddenly he realised what had happened.

"Damn," Oliver swore silently, muttering. He had been knocked out from the game.

"I'll say."

The voice was familiar and laughing. Oliver sat up quickly, frowning, trying to locate the owner of the voice. A rush of blood ran through his head. His vision blurred and he groaned.

The figure moved in front of him, and through his messed-up vision he saw a kaleidoscope of pretty faces and bright green eyes. He waited a while for his vision to focus. Someone was smiling at him. Someone too familiar.

"Serves you right for sitting up too fast," Katie Bell told him, smirking. "Painful, isn't it?"

"Bell?" he said, unsure. He wasn't dreaming. She was standing there, in flesh. The familiar scent of something light and citrus was clearly hers. He didn't know anyone else who smelt like her—like fruits and heaven and everything delightful.

"Nice to see you again too, Wood," she laughed.

"What are you doing here?" He blurted, entirely forgetting his manners again.

Katie sighed as she pointed to something on her robes. This time he finally took in the shiny official badge pinned on it.

"You seem to forget that I volunteer here as Healer."

"I haven't forgotten." He was murmuring now.

"Then you shouldn't be surprised. I'm going to dress your wounds now."

The brunette dangled a roll of white gauze and a bottle of Murtlap Essence it front of his face. Before he could say anything she began working on his wound, dabbing it lightly. It did not hurt at all.

"But you are here!" He exclaimed, still agog.

"I am."

"You really are here," Oliver repeated to himself, his head finally starting to clear up.

"Strange. You seem only too eager to see me again when we met last time," Katie smirked again.

"I was," He added, grinning now, as he eyed her pale blue robes with the Healer badge pinned on it. "I told you I would see you down here one day."

"I didn't realise it was going to be so soon."

"Lucky you then," he chuckled.

"I hardly call this luck," she scoffed, unable to hide a smile.

"I would prefer to see you when half of my face isn't bloodied up," Oliver grimaced at the thought. It took him another second to realised he was at the side of the stadium, on a stretcher. "Am I out of the game?"

"Sure you are. Did you honestly expect to be up in the air so soon again?" She asked, her eyebrows arching as she continued to dab liberal amounts of ointment on him.

Oliver thought about it.

"Yes. But I'm relieved I'm here instead." The game had been a disaster.

Katie was looking at him, her eyebrows still arched.

"It's get dull when you have nothing to do but guard an empty goalpost," He explained unhappily, rolling his eyes a little. "And that's what I have been doing for the past half hour."

Katie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "I know what you mean. I'm surprised that you haven't fallen asleep waiting for them. "She smoothed her dark curls which unravelled from its knot on her head. She looked messy. Like a beautiful mess.

The conversation suddenly stopped as she turned away from him, and walked towards the first aid table nearby. She was suddenly preoccupied with searching for medication. Oliver didn't like this—she was treating him with a professional air.

"So you weren't lying about being a volunteer here," he said conversationally as he watched her meddle with a first aid box, pulling out all sorts of powder and potions. Another Healer witch was dozing off in the corner.

"Why would you think that I lied to you?"

"Katie Bell, you know better than I do that Charms isn't your best subject," He said deadpanned. He looked at his shoulder, surprised to find it nicely healed and bandaged.

"The confidence you have in me is inspiring," she commented dryly, catching his shocked expression. "Besides, have I ever done a bad Charm on you?" She asked innocently.

"Yes," Oliver said without blinking.

"It was a long time ago!" She retorted playfully.

"Not long enough for me to forget what happened," he glared. "I lost a limb!"

"Really?" Katie chimed brightly. "Oh, look. Your team scored."

Oliver glanced up. True enough, Puddlemere had just gained another ten points.

"Hardly surprising," He scoffed. "We are up by merely two hundred points."

"Getting conceited, Wood?"

"My team is always the best. Even in Hogwarts." He said proudly.

"Can't disagree with that." The corner of her lips twitched. "After all, I was the chaser in your team."

"Getting conceited, Bell?"

"I have every right to."

His attention went back to the game for a moment. "Look at their chasers. They can't even score properly!" He exclaimed, making wild agitated gestures. The movements caused him some pain, but he did not show it.

"You look better," Katie observed. "Perhaps I should send you back to the game."

"Please don't." He shuddered at the thought of returning to the dull game.

"I will try not to." Katie said as she finished up dressing his wound, and stood back to admire her handiwork. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Yes, unexpectedly."

"I dare say you find the ground more preferable to being in the air now."

"I do."

"Of course."

"Besides," he added meaningfully, completely oblivious about the game. "I'd rather be here with you."

Oliver saw her looked up from his dressings, a highly amused expression on her pretty face. Katie Bell sat down on his stretcher with him, sprawled out beside him. She tilted her head, her green eyes staring intently at him.

"What do you want, Wood?" She asked with a wicked smile.

He grinned, leaning back comfortably against the stadium's wall. "You know me well."

"So what do you want?" Katie asked, settling comfortably beside Oliver.

"Many things," Oliver replied. "The first of which is to question the highly superior look on your face right now."

"You wouldn't like the answer," She laughed.

"I would still like one. I hate not knowing," He said, raising his brow questioningly.

"I'm merely enjoying the power of my position right now," she said smugly. "After years of getting ordered around on the Quidditch pitch, it's nice to boss the Captain who made my social life almost non-existent."

"You make me sound like a tyrant."

"You are."

"Am not!" Oliver insisted, shaking his head.

"No wonder you like to boss us around so much," Katie smiled. "The power is exhilarating. It's making me giddy."

He scowled at the bemused girl. "You are exaggerating."

"Go find out yourself," She told him, trying to tuck her hair away from her line of vision.

"I don't need to. I have been nice!"

"Angelina and Alicia would be the first to testify against that statement."

"Unreliable witnesses," He chuckled as he helped her pull back one of her curls. "Both have the tendency to dramatize."

"The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team does," she paused. "Except Harry. And me."

"You?" He said incredulously.

"You don't see me mock-impaling myself whenever there is Quidditch practice like the Weasleys."

"Sure," He smiled widely. "You are just the one doing lousy imitations of me having panic attacks."

"It was a mere re-enactment of your pre-Quidditch pep talk." She sniffed. "I was doing accurate portrayal."

"I'm not the one who abandoned everyone else three years ago by zooming off somewhere," he said, grinning. _Including me_, he silently added.

"Is running away dramatic?" She said thoughtfully.

"In my books, yes."

"That was a long time ago. I can't even recall which day was it when I left. " Katie smiled, looking at him now. "Besides, I merely left for a while."

"Sure. No notes and letters, that's all."

"Doesn't the occasional postcard to Angelina and Alicia count?" She inquired.

"Define occasional."

"Once every two months," she said sheepishly. Oliver smirked.

"There you go," he said triumphantly.

Oliver paused for a while and he watched her watch the game absently. Another of Puddlemer's chaser scored. All of a sudden he hoped Leah wouldn't find the Snitch too quickly. Another five hours would be good.

"So," He said in a conversational tone. "Where did you go?"

"Ha!"

His cheek burned "Ha what?"

Katie smiled coyly, victory clear in her voice. "I knew you couldn't resist asking."

"So I was curious," he admitted. "So sue me."

"You are itching to know." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm writhing in pain already. I told you I hate not knowing. So where?"

She smiled, deciding not to play around with him too much. "Italy. Rome."

"Why there?"

"I couldn't resist ice cream."

Oliver burst into booming laughter.

"What!" She cried defensively. "It's true."

He was still shaking, tears in his eyes. "I know it's true. That's why I'm laughing."

"I have a weakness for gelatos."

"Tried many flavours?" He questioned politely, trying to make amends.

"Two hundred and fifty three out of two hundred and fifty-four."

"All except one?" He asked.

"Peanut butter," she replied, as if it was obvious.

"You don't like them," Oliver recalled, remembering her favourite choice of spreads for breakfast.

"That's right."

"So what's your favourite flavour?" He asked curiously.

She thought for a while. "Strawberry."

"Incredible." She saw him shake his head in amazement.

"What is?"

"Let me get this straight," He said, amazed. "You went all the way to Italy to eat ice cream which comes in a gazillion different flavours. And now you return telling me your favourite one is those that you can get across the street."

"That sounds about right," She smiled.

"You are unbelievable."

"What's yours then?"

He didn't hesitate.

"Strawberry," he grinned.

"Seriously?" Katie asked. He nodded.

"I have three tubs at home. What did you expect me to say?" He said, feeling laughter bubbling in him. His injury barely bothered him.

"I guess Puddlemere's Oliver Wood would go for something fancier," she said with a shrug.

"Like what?" He asked curiously.

She tried to think. "Firewhiskey?"

"Sorry Bell. Those are clearly your drug," He chuckled. "I'm more into the good-old-fashioned strawberry type."

"No one else likes strawberry, though. They say it's annoyingly sweet."

"It's creamy with just the right dose of sugar!" He said, offended.

"Exactly!" She nodded furiously in agreement.

"There must be someone else who likes strawberry," He said disbelievingly. "Ange?"

"She's a one scoop Vanilla girl."

"Nice description. Alicia?"

"Macademia nut with toffee. The Weasleys are partial to anything with chocolate in it. Bet you won't know Luna's favourite."

"Krumple-skin?"

"No."

"Primplies with butterscotch."

"Nice one," she said smiling. "But it's cherry."

"Really?" Oliver said, shocked. "But it's so…" He tried to search for a word.

"Normal?" Katie offered

"Yeah."

"Who would have guessed?" She said, beaming. "What's your team's favourite? Spill."

"Matt likes lemon sorbet. Leah's changes everyday. The rest are just content to eat a bowl with twenty different flavours."

"This is totally fascinating," Katie said with amusement. "I can imagine Quibbler's next headline: Puddlemere United Players' Favourite Ice Cream Flavours: An in depth analysis on what it means."

"You will owe me a cone then. It will be a bestseller."

"Unless I print an exclusive with you."

"You can have it right now. Perhaps you can analyse our favourite type of cookies as well."

"I would love to," She said with a dazzling smile, standing up. "But unfortunately for you, the game is over and I'm pretty sure your team mates would like to make fun of your injury right now. We better postpone it to next time."

Oliver looked up. The game, he realized, was over. Leah Hathaway was just twenty feet away from him on the Pitch, high-fiving with Matt as she twirled the Snitch in between her fingers. Both of them have a look of relief on their face, evidently glad it was over.

"I will see you around," Katie said, waving goodbye. He cleared his throat.

"Wednesday," He blurted suddenly. "Wednesday was the day you left."

She stopped there for a moment, contemplating him. But then she turned, with a slight smile and she started to walk off.

"I remember," She told him. "And today's a Wednesday too."

And then, Oliver watched as she disappeared into the crowd of people, her lovely silhouette almost gone. He shook his head with a smile on his face.

"Who's that, mate?" Matt appeared by his side, curiously looking in the direction his teammate was staring at. He was sweating still from the Quidditch game. "She's pretty."

"I think so too."

"Any chance you got her name?" Matt asked, looking at Oliver's face

"I would give it to you over my dead body. She's doesn't like lemon sorbet." He said without missing a beat.

Matt stared at him. "You are mad."

"I am," Oliver replied. "About her."

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**Okay I realise this chapter might sound a bit rushed but I totally have no idea how to re-do it. But I really liked the ice cream part-- the power of meaningless banter lol.**

**I'm a little miffed right now because I realised I lost half of my new Tea Leaves and Coffee which I was intending to post next week. I have to totally rewrite it again. Damn! Revenge of technology I guess, because I abuse my computer so much.  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW! **

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